by Dave Duncan
lauded the prince's gallantry and forbearance.
Gerard fought down nausea as bad as any he
ever had known on the ship, trying not to imagine himself
in there, chained like a brute. What if
Cynewulf decided that the easiest way to stop the
cryptic Chivian from aiding his upstart brother's
march to the throne was to enthrall him here and now?
Terribly sorry, Aeled, I
misunderstood.
The eight conjurers in their black robes took
up positions on the points of the octogram and
began chanting in Baelish. The prisoners
screamed at the tops of their lungs, trying
to drown them out, but the spirits heard the summons
regardless. As far as Gerard could tell, the
enchantment was mainly a revocation of the two
elements, air and fire, that were the main components
of soul. He did not want to watch, but sheer
horror held him frozen like a fascinated
rabbit while the victims' screams and abuse
faltered, then died away to confused mumbling.
Expressions faded from furious to puzzled, and
finally eyes drooped shut. Starting with the smallest
and ending with the young adults among them, they staggered,
sank to their knees, then to the floor, finally lying
still. Forty youngsters lay like corpses.
The conjurers paused to catch their breath.
Cynewulf gave Gerard a shove. Gerard very
nearly swung a punch, but checked himself in time.
"Ealdor?"
"Get in there. They are about to be taught the
language. One more won't hurt." And
probably the enchanters would not dare charge the
atheling anything. Shivering, Gerard raised his chin and
stepped boldly into the octogram to stand alongside
the unconscious prisoners. Conjuration began
again, this time taking longer, with air and fire
apparently the main elements invoked. He felt
nothing, not a prickle, but near the end he looked
down and saw to his dismay that the thralls now had
their eyes open, staring blankly. As soon as it
was over, he moved back to safety outside the
lines.
"Rise!" shouted one of the slavers. "Stand up
now!" With a great clattering of chains, the slaves
climbed to their feet and then just stood, waiting for
further orders.
"See?" Cynewulf remarked cheerfully.
"Their bodies remain behind unharmed, while their
spirits are returned to the spirits." He pulled his
son's ear to turn his head. "Look! These are
new-caught slaves, Wulfwer. See how much
better they behave, now they have been made
into thralls? See how they don't talk
unless you ask them a question? This is why your mother
doesn't speak to you much."
The obsequious conjurer reappeared, lugging a
sack of coins he had just accepted from the chief
slaver. "How else may we have the honor of
serving you, Ealdor Fyrlafing?"
Gerard now understood Baelish.
"Heal this loet for me."
The conjurer frowned at the prisoner as if
surprised that anyone would waste good money on
him. "I am forced to inquire as to the cause of his
injuries, ealdor. He had an accident?"
"Oh, no. He was being questioned."
The conjurer beamed. "That makes things simpler,
much simpler! Virtual spirits are hard
to influence, you understand. Especially elementals of
chance. They are so unpredictable! By definition,
of course. Deliberate damage, involving
only the manifest elements, is much easier
to reverse. How exactly was he tortured?"
"He was given a face wash."
"The noble atheling will forgive me, but I--"
"Nautical term. He was hung upside
down over the ship's side and banged about in the
wake until he stopped misbehaving."
"Ah! Then a major revocation of water should
clear up most of the problem. A minor addition of
fire to speed the healing."
"He also had a bad bang on the
beallucas," Gerard remarked, with feeling.
"Specific treatments for that injury are
complex," the conjurer said cautiously, implying
expensive.
Cynewulf shrugged. "Then don't worry about
it. We do not intend to use him for breeding."
As the young thralls obediently trudged away,
the conjurers returned to their stations on the points
of the octogram, and now Gerard stood alone in the
center. He had experienced minor healing before and
he was impressed by the Baels' skill. When the
ritual was finished, even the throb in his groin was
barely more than an unpleasantness. The only
side effect he noticed was a raging thirst.
With two of his men assisting, Cynewulf heaved
himself up into his silver-studded saddle; he had
clearly lost interest in Gerard, at least for the time
being. "That's done. I must go and see if
dear Aeled wants me to clean his boots next.
He said you were to wait for him at Cynehof.
Don't expect him soon, because he plans
to visit Waeferh`ed's mother to break the news. That
makes as much sense as lecturing a rack of
lamb--thralls can't mourn. A complete waste
of time. Gu`edlac, show him the way to Cynehof and
then run home. If you take all day about it, you
know what will happen to you."
Gerard watched the atheling depart with his son and the
other three attendants. Now he understood young
Brimbearn's unspoken criticism of
Cynewulf. It took something more than high birth
and a strong arm to make a man throne-worthy and that
one did not have it.
He turned to find his ginger-haired companion
watching him with a sardonic expression. He was of
middle years, stocky and weatherbeaten. Why
amusement in a man just threatened with a beating?
"Would you describe the atheling as
throne-worthy?"
"Would never say he wasn't." Gu`edlac
turned his head and spat.
Gerard smiled for the first time since he killed
Waerferh`ed. "And his brother?"
"Ah." The Bael considered him thoughtfully, as
if wondering how far to trust. "There's a
stallion for a big herd!"
"Q. Shouldn't we be on our way?"
"What's the hurry? You fancy a swim?"
Baelmark was a place of infinite
surprises. The steam clouds Gerard had
observed earlier marked natural hot springs within
the town. These were used to supply public bathing
pools, some of which were open to the slave classes,
and he was soon lolling naked in steaming hot water
with a hundred other men. The only payment
required was that he tell Gu`edlac his story, which
soon gathered a large audience--slaves'
lives lacked entertainment. In the desultory
discussion that followed, a strange conversation between
floating faces speaking to the steam overhead, he
learned that most of his companions had been born in
<
br /> captivity, although some had been captured in other
lands when too young to require enthrallment. Very
few had red hair.
"I was a thegn," Gu`edlac asserted, "over
on Su`edmest, south of here. Five generations,
my ancestors bore arms."
"What happened?"
"Killed a man in a brawl." He made this
seem a minor misfortune that might happen
to anyone. "So I was wite`edeow."
"Why didn't your werod pay the wergild?"
asked a voice somewhere in the steam.
"Or your lord?" demanded another.
"My lord wanted my daughters. Liked
girls young. He bought them at the sale. My
wife was bought by her brothers, but they couldn't afford
the kids."
There were no more questions. Gerard was left wondering
how much the audience believed the story, at least the
last part, and what Gu`edlac had done to be so
unpopular with his mates. He clearly felt no
loyalty to his present owner, being happy
to waste his time, which of course belonged
to Cynewulf. But he did admire Aeled, or
so he said. "He is considerate of his men. He
hoards their lives and is liberal with treasure."
"How will he fare when he challenges?"
Other voices answered.
"Good."
"Yea, the thegns will welcome a Cattering
earl again--"
"Who might bring the crown back here
to Waro`edburh ..."
"Ceolmund's too cautious."
"Niggardly!"
"An earl's wealth," Gu`edlac said, making
an effort to assert superior knowledge stemming from his
warrior birth, "lies in the strong anus of his
thegns, not bags of silver in the cellar. He's
been relying on his crony Cynewulf to keep
Aeled under control. Something went wrong about the time
the kid started shaving."
"And if Aeled succeeds," Gerard asked,
"what are his chances of becoming king?"
"Depends on the other earls, of course.
Kings are rarely deposed without cause. I
don't think Ufegeat is unpopular."
Even after he and Gerard had dried, dressed,
and resumed their journey to Cynehof, Gu`edlac
followed a leisurely, circuitous route.
He showed off much of the city, including the markets.
The stall keepers could tell at a glance that the
two men were not potential customers; they shouted
abuse and threatened to ask the next passing thegn
to chase them away. Gu`edlac paid no
attention and let Gerard marvel at the many
magnificent things on sale--ostrich feathers,
exotic metalwork, patterned silks, and dozens
of other luxuries from distant lands. He was
especially impressed by some magnificent
illuminated manuscripts, which must have been
looted from much closer to home.
Once, distant thunder announced that Cwicnoll
was blowing out fire and smoke.
"He does that every few hours," Gu`edlac
explained off-handedly. "When the wind blows this
way, he can spray Waro`edburh with ash."
"Don't the houses burn?"
"Sometimes."
"Why not build them of stone, then?"
His guide looked shocked and disbelieving.
"Houses of stone? What happens when the earth
shakes?" Apparently earthquakes were a much more
serious problem than fires.
"What," Gerard asked, recalling Aeled's
tale of the Gevilians, "is a fyrdraca?"
Gu`edlac shivered and lowered his voice. "You
know that each of the eight elements has a special
place in the world, a home where the spirits dwell.
Baelmark is the home of the fire elementals;
Cwicnoll is one of their nests. Sometimes fire
spirits mate with those of earth and birth a
firedrake, which is monstrous and most deadly,
seeking out men to destroy them. The scops sing
epic tales of great heroes fighting
firedrakes, like Aeled's grandfather, King
Cu`edblaese, who fought one on the slopes of
Hatstan."
"I heard that one destroyed an invading army."
Gu`edlac spat, his standard way of indicating
disapproval. "In the days of King Fyrlaf,
Cu`edblaese's son. Instead of fighting the
drake, he drove it against the Gevilians and
burned them up."
"Sounds like a smart move."
The former thegn showed a rare flicker of emotion.
"Smart can be shameful! Honest fighting men should not
be treated as kindling. The witenagemot felt so
disgraced that it shipped the survivors home without
charge." Apparently there were depths to which even
Baels would not sink; and Gerard recalled that
Aeled had hesitated before mentioning the incident--and
had not alluded to his father's part in it at all.
They came at last to Cynehof, whose name meant
"king's hall," although for the last twenty years it
had been only the seat of the earl. It was a single
high-roofed building backed by a fenced compound of
many smaller buildings. Those were not truly houses
--Gu`edlac called them cabins--because their
occupants were mostly transients and ate in the
hall. In ancient times an earl's thegn had
been required to sleep in his hall, but nowadays
only the cnihtas had to. Most thegns owned
houses of their own in the city or on estates
scattered throughout Baelmark.
Cnihtas?
Gu`edlac had halted at one side of a
courtyard, whose far side was the front of
Cynehof, wide stone steps up to a great oaken
fa@cade. "Boys with swords. See those over
there? Stay away from them if you can, friend!"
"Why?"
All afternoon, Gu`edlac had been having trouble
understanding Gerard's ignorance of what servitude
really meant. He stared incredulously. "Because
you're a loet, that's why! And they're thegn
colts."
"'Fraid I still don't understand."
The Bael sighed. "When a thegn-born's
beard starts showing he goes to his earl, and if his
birth is good enough, the earl accepts him as a
cniht. For training. You can tell the cnihtas
because they wear swords and helmets but not mail.
The ones with the chain mail are house thegns.
They're the earl's bodyguards and enforcers, his
personal werod, understand? They keep order in
the hall and the town under the command of the marshal."
Only house thegns and cnihtas could take
weapons into Cynehof itself, Gu`edlac explained.
"But cnihtas can get uppity with trash like us,
friend, so that's where you're going and I'll head off
now and find my supper if you don't mind."
Gu`edlac studied Gerard for a moment. "Is it
true what Cynewulf said--that you could help
Aeled win the throne?"
"I--I am not sure."
Even that weak evasion impressed the Bael.
"I suggest you put your mind to it, friend! Any
man who helped Aeled Fyrlafing mount the throne
/>
of his fathers would surely be buried in gold. He
would hold lands as far as the eye could see and eat
off plate till the end of his days."
Gerard thanked him for all his help,
wondering how he would have reacted a week ago had
anyone told him he would take an honest liking
to a Bael. Whatever his past, the slave bore his
present situation with commendable resignation. His
obvious dislike of Cynewulf should also be counted
in his favor.
The five bored cnihtas slouching on the
steps regarded the newcomer with contempt, he being
unarmed. At a guess they ranged from fifteen
to eighteen in age, and in size from shoulder height
to enormous. Each wore a sword and helmet.
They heard his story, then their leader sent the
smallest to fetch Leofric, whom Gu`edlac had
described as the tanist's closest friend and most
trusted helper.
Leofric soon arrived. He was no older
than Aeled himself, but taller and slender, and although
he would have been called a redhead anywhere else,
his hair was blond by Baelish standards. A jagged
white scar disfigured the right side of his face, the
eye socket hidden by a silver patch bearing a
single huge emerald. That was either a joke or a
challenge, because the remaining left eye was much
closer to blue than green--reputably a
serious impairment among Baels. It seemed
sharp enough as he appraised the newcomer.
He led the way to an outlying cabin furnished
with a cot, chair, and storage chest. Gerard
looked around it in disbelief, seeing finer
accommodation than the Green Man in Ambleport.
"A slave gets his own quarters?"
Leofric's smile was doubtless intended to be
reassuring, but it held more menace than most
men's scowls. "Tanist says you are to be
treated as a war captive. You were thegn-born in
Chivial, and he will not put you among loetu and
thralls. Do not try to wear a weapon here,
though."
"Of course not!" Gerard said hurriedly,
wishing he had never touched a rapier in his life.
"Aeled left you some gold, for clothes and so
on. I will show you where to obtain a woman when you
need one."
Thrall woman? Gerard shivered and shook his
head at that offer, but he could think of nothing to say
about the rest except, "He is very generous!"
"Always!" Leofric said emphatically.
Suddenly his smile made him seem boyish and
harmless. "A true giver of treasure.